— — — — — —
No matter the age, people change with what they experience.
Grindelwald had once thought he would spend the rest of his life quietly in Nurmengard, fading away in peace and solitude. But ever since Tom appeared, his mindset had begun to shift.
He wasn't just any prisoner — he was Grindelwald, the black wizard who nearly ruled all of Europe, the idealist who fought for the so-called "Greater Good," and a lifelong seeker on the path of magic.
Seeing what had become of the Acolytes, seeing the unimaginable future that awaited Tom, and after long conversations with Andros, he had gained new perspectives on magic, on wizards, even on his own past.
The convictions that had once felt unshakable now carried cracks.
Taking these wands into his hands was Grindelwald's quiet way of admitting he had made up his mind.
When he would leave this place would depend on timing, on fate... on that final push.
Tom saw him accept the wands and smiled.
He didn't care what chaos Grindelwald's return to the world might cause. He was Tom's teacher — letting him rot here and die alone was simply unacceptable.
"Come on, I brought you a proper feast this time."
Tom unpacked dish after dish from the dragonhide pouch, quickly filling the table. Then he cast an Engorgement Charm to double its size and kept pulling out more food and bottles of wine until he was satisfied.
"Been a long time since I've had a proper meal."
Grindelwald's voice held both amusement and faint nostalgia as he started eating. His pace was quick, but every movement was still elegant, refined.
Tom ate at an unhurried pace, occasionally clinking glasses with him, and said with a small sigh, "If only Ariana and Andros could be here in person."
In the study space, Ariana's lips glistened with envy.
Sure, Tom often conjured food for her there — but fake was fake, and real was real. The feeling in your heart just wasn't the same.
Andros was practically drooling. "Seriously? Could you two stop livestreaming your dinner? This is torture."
"I'm just letting you share the experience," Tom said with a grin. "Besides, it's boring with just the two of us. The more, the merrier."
Even without hearing the conversation directly, Grindelwald could guess what Tom was saying, and he chuckled softly.
When he was about eighty percent full, Grindelwald set down his fork.
He knew his body couldn't handle overeating anymore — that kind of discomfort wasn't worth it.
Tom placed the dragonhide bag back on the table. "There's enough food in here to last you about a month. I'll bring more when you're running low."
Grindelwald peeked inside, drew his wand, and with a flick, half the food floated back out and landed on the table.
Tom stared.
Grindelwald's mouth curved into a faint smile. "I prefer things fresh. Half a month's worth is enough."
Tom narrowed his eyes. "You old fox… you just want to make sure I come back often, don't you?"
Grindelwald waved him off. "I didn't say that. Don't put words in my mouth. Just bring me some different cuisine next time — something from other countries. 15 days is good to gather them."
Tom jabbed a finger at him, resisting the urge to curse. "Fine."
Grindelwald didn't seem bothered at all and sipped his Jägermeister with a look of pure satisfaction.
Tom, meanwhile, stuck with the Riesling. He really couldn't handle the herbal sweetness of Jäger — and he strongly suspected Dumbledore's infamous sweet tooth was Grindelwald's fault to begin with.
"Tom," Grindelwald said casually, as if it had just crossed his mind. "Didn't you once tell me that Dumbledore considers Voldemort the most powerful dark wizard of the century?"
"Yeah." Tom popped a cherry into his mouth. "He said Voldemort pushed a lot of dark magic to heights nobody had ever reached before."
"Don't take it personally. Sure, you did more earthshaking things than he did, but he's still darkly stronger."
"You spent too much time on the politics of ruling a movement. Voldemort, on the other hand, devoted himself entirely to black magic, researching and studying non-stop."
"Hmph."
Grindelwald snorted. "That was then. This is now. Does Voldemort have a Meditation Room? Does he have a wizard like Andros to debate magic with him?"
"When I leave from here, I'll show the world the real dark magic!"
Tom's eyes gleamed mischievously. "Speaking of which — who do you think is stronger, Andros or Dumbledore?"
Grindelwald hesitated, then said reluctantly, "Without the Elder Wand, Dumbledore wouldn't stand a chance. With it… I'm not so sure."
"Andros' Patronus is terrifying," he added. "You've still got a long way to go. He was named Andros the Invincible for a reason."
Tom grinned. "Then one day, I'll shapeshift into you, summon Andros, and have him kick Dumbledore's ass until the old man cries."
Grindelwald just stared at him. This kid's ideas were so devious that even he, a dark wizard, thought they were a bit much.
A natural-born troublemaker.
...
The afternoon passed quickly. Tom had arrived here before ten in the morning, and before he knew it, dusk had fallen.
Most of the time was spent with Grindelwald playing with Voldemort's diary and discussing the Acolytes' future plans.
Every organization needed a clear purpose. The Acolytes had once fought to expose the Statute of Secrecy — but that was no longer realistic.
Grindelwald knew why he truly failed that year. It wasn't just because Dumbledore had defeated him, but because, after that day, wizards no longer had the strength to compete with Muggles in the short term.
And he wasn't just talking about raw power.
Sure, if the two "Kings of the Century" really wanted to throw the world into chaos and walk away unscathed, they could. But in the process, the wizarding population might as well go extinct.
That was why Grindelwald had to find a new unifying belief for the Acolytes—something that would give them direction when they acted.
"Is that really so hard?" Tom tilted his head, looking genuinely confused. "They serve you, they serve me, they deal with all the little chores that get in my way so I can become the strongest wizard as fast as possible. Isn't that the whole point?"
Grindelwald's mouth twitched. "Tom… you make it sound so… blunt."
"Fine, let me rephrase." Tom nodded thoughtfully. "They're working for the greater good. And my 'greater good' just happens to be absolute."
"As for how you dress it up with fancy words, that's up to you. Either way, I won't cheat the people who work for me. You can be sure of that."
Through the narrow window, he noticed the sky outside had gone completely dark. Tom stood up.
"Alright, I'm off. I'll come visit you soon, old G."
...
Downstairs, the Squib guard was still snoring loudly. Tom touched the tip of his wand to the man's temple, pulled out the relevant memory, and erased it completely.
One of his few regrets about sending Lockhart to Azkaban so early was that he never got to pick up a few tricks about memory charms from him.
Upstairs, Grindelwald watched until Tom's silhouette had shrunk to a tiny black dot and vanished from sight. Only then did he lower his gaze, murmuring under his breath: "Voldemort, huh? …I'll make sure Albus sees for himself one day, who the greatest dark wizard of the century really is."
Tom could easily tell that Grindelwald's competitive spirit was burning again—but that was only natural. Competition was a hallmark of powerful wizards. It was what drove them to keep getting stronger.
Before leaving, Tom had given him several vials of strengthening potion. Old G deserved to look like the Big G everyone remembered
---
When Tom returned to Hogwarts, the students had already left the Quidditch pitch, and neither Megatron nor the professors were anywhere to be seen.
Lately, Tom had left Megatron in Professor McGonagall's care. All he really needed to do was identify glitches or mistakes when they popped up.
And ever since Dumbledore had made that announcement, the atmosphere in the castle had been far livelier.
Professor Flitwick's Charms classes had practically turned into a branch of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Every lesson, he would pick two students as sparring partners and demonstrate how clever technique and tactical thinking could let them win a duel with nothing but simple spells.
If Flitwick was all about finesse and precision, Professor Laos was the total opposite. He was pure brute force. He insisted the biggest problem with Hogwarts students was that their spells were too soft and there were far too few of them.
Not everyone had Flitwick's quick brain or nimble frame. For most students—and, honestly, for most wizards—real fights came down to trading spellfire. Once you had a bit of experience, it was all about who had the raw power to take a hit, break through a shield, and blast the other guy off his feet.
Whoever could do that won.
Naturally, both approaches had their own fan clubs. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw mostly sided with Flitwick, while Slytherin and Gryffindor, in a rare moment of unity, agreed with Laos.
Winning by clever tricks and dodging around might be fun, but nothing beat crushing your opponent head-on with sheer strength.
Their disagreements had sparked more than a few (sometimes very loud) arguments, but neither professor personally stepped in. Instead, during the first open class of the term, they deliberately had students from those two sides face off against each other.
Before anyone realized it, January was already over.
Tom had published two more articles that month, this time focusing on pure-blood families abroad. They barely made a ripple at Hogwarts.
But this wasn't the order he had originally planned. He chose those families because of the intel Rosier had brought him.
The ones putting a bounty on his head had finally been exposed—some were radical pure-blood fanatics, and some were just old enemies of the Rosier family.
Together, they had formed a loose alliance of convenience and scraped together fifty thousand Galleons as a bounty for Tom.
Too bad only two of those families were prominent enough to earn a spot in his History of the Wizarding World. Otherwise, he would have dragged every single one of their skeletons into the light.
The fact that they had to pool money just to reach fifty thousand told him everything. These families might have had illustrious ancestors, but now? They were broke and weak.
Taking them out right now would draw too much attention. But the moment he got a good opportunity to fish in troubled waters, he'd make sure they were wiped out—roots and all.
...
On the very last day of the month, after class ended, Tom made straight for the Room of Requirement.
On the last day of July, he had received the Fifth Trial.
Now, half a year had passed. Even though he hadn't completed the Fifth Trial, it was time to issue the Sixth.
That's how the system worked: new trials would begin every six months, whether the old ones were completed or not.
Each trial had a twelve-month limit, and if it wasn't completed in time, a new one would be issued instead — with no penalty for failure.
.
.
.